In This Together
by MagicallyChallenged
Summary: Christmas Submission on Calzona Board, Callie casts an inward eye on how her life as changed.


**Okay, so this was my entry of Calzona Board for the Christmas Challenge, Hope you all enjoy. Thanks for reading and Happy Holidays people, Mele Kalikimaka!**

We've been here before, this is nothing new, well some of it is but that makes us relish it even more. It's the little things really, tiny differences that nobody but us would notice, nobody but us would feel and nobody but us would ever really understand. We make notes, taking turns of sharing the soft pink felt covered book and gracing it with the swirling dance of our thoughts as they leave through our hands and come alive in black and white. I glance at the space next to me, admiring the amazingly beautiful woman I get to call my own. I watch as she runs her fingers through her light curls, the pen caught between her teeth and her brow furrowed in that cute way it does when she's thinking really hard about something. I bite down on my bottom lip, my eyes sating slightly as I watch her remove the pen from its resting place and run her tongue over her bottom lip. My mouth falls open slightly, as I watch her move her skilled fingers to grip the pen, guiding it in a dance across the soft off rose pages, occasionally dotting her I's with those smiley faces I know she likes to add. She still exudes a childish quality, regardless of her situation; in fact I actually think it's added to her jubilant acts of immaturity, regardless… I adore her and I wouldn't change her for the world. She's perfect, in my eyes she does no wrong and often it confuses me how we got to this place, how she got to place where she felt the need to change, for me.

I reach out tentatively, my hand connecting with the stretched bare skin situated above the waistband of her pj pants, fingertips dancing over the swell of her stomach tickling light paths I remember kissing the night before. She giggles lightly, looking away from the blotted pages and towards my hand, bringing her own to the side of her face and sliding the pen behind a small impish ear. Bringing her empty hand down, she finds mine flattened now against her stomach, my face jubilant as I feel the waves rocking in her stomach, the fluid movement as our daughter turns a full somersault causing her to close her eyes and grip my hand tightly. Throughout everything she's handled everything amazingly well for a woman who was scared by the mere thought of Jam hands, in fact as I sit here watching her I feel a sheer admiration for her that nothing could measure. She had been scared, actually, she had been so scared she had avoided being in the same room with me for longer than ten minutes and the night I finally found out, well it wasn't on purpose, I don't think finding anyone sitting in their closet with their knees up to their chin rocking back and forth to a mantra of 'I'm not ready' could be seen as a revelation to be celebrated.

**FLASHBACK**

_I remember helping her to her feet, her eyes heavy from nights of worry laden sleep, her body tired as she leant into me, her full weight adding to the already increasing need to pee I felt, due to the familiar pressing on my bladder. At first I thought she was freaking out because of my test results, 12 weeks and 3 days was the outcome, the tiny butterflies in my stomach were in fact the light movements and first physical results of my pregnancy and it was that night, with her hand on the small swell of my stomach that she told me something special. They would be born days apart, we would finally experience this together, this was something neither of us could have dreamed of, planned for yes, but how often in life do plans fail at the first hurdle. _

_I didn't know what to do, there is no manual for this situation and so I relied on instinct, taking her hand in mine as I led her to our bedroom. My hands fumbling with the buttons on her jeans, the material sliding off her slender legs as I threw them aside until I heard the clunk as the cold metal hit the wooden floor. Taking a second to look at her my heart broke, her face red and puffy from crying, her eyes averting my gaze, choosing instead to admire the grainy swirls in the flooring. She was shaking, her whole body trembling and her arms were wrapped around herself in a hug I knew she needed more than anything. Stepping towards her my hands grazed her stomach, fingers dancing over her own light swell as they moved to grip the fabric of her shift, lifting it up and over her head. She fell instinctively into me, her body shaking as her hands gripped fistfuls of my t-shirt, the light blue fabric darkening as she stained it with her tears. For a moment I just stood there, her reaction to this news was much different than it had been only last week when, during our visit to the fertility clinic it was confirmed that I was pregnant. That night she had taken me home and made love to me, hands tangled in my hair as she kissed a trail of passionate love induced kisses from my lips to my stomach punctuating each one with a statement of how happy she was that we were finally going to have the family we wanted, the family we deserved. Now here she stood my mirror image in a world of clear distortion. The most amazing news, turning her world upside down, filling her with a fear and doubt that almost crippled her, and so I held her… pure and simple, I held her. I let her break, let her move through her feelings of guilt, anguish, fear, inadequacy and watched her move to place where she felt a little less scared, noting her acceptance with the release of my shirt from her no longer shaking hands. As she lifted her gaze to meet mine, I saw panic dancing in her eyes, flitting through those aqua pools in the arms of reassurance and with a simple smile she came back to me. She sniffed back her tears, sucking her bottom lip in and allowing her teeth to bite gently as she forced a smile that would eventually become meaningful, I returned her smile, hoping that my authenticity would cause a slight sense of ease within her, sooth her slightly. She nodded at me and closed her eyes, betraying tears escaping down her face as she declared a statement I could feel her willing herself to believe._

'_Everything's going to be okay'_

_I nearly answered her, I had my lips parted and mouth read to move at the speed of lighting and reassure her but my mind kicked into gear and reminded the rest of me that, that wasn't what she needed right now. She wasn't asking a question, she wasn't looking for an explanation or words of wisdom, she was trying work through it herself, all she needed from me right there in that moment, was strong arms. So I held her, I stayed focused on her, eyes locked in her gaze and mouth moving back into the smile it had previously taken to form, and I held her. After a short while I felt her skin pebble with goosebumps, a result of the cool air seeping through the slightly opened windows and the soft invisible circles my fingers were marking on her back, stepping her towards the bed I held her close until her lithe body bent at the knees and she fell into the sheets. My arms unfurling from their hold around her momentarily, reaching for the hem of my shirt and removing it before unclasping my jeans and removing them too. Crawling in beside her, she instantly rolled into me, her arms held up between us defensively before slowly gravitating towards my face, silence lingering between us as her fingertips grazed my lips, dancing along untold secrets and late night declarations of a forever love. I watched her for a while, watched the wonderment in her eyes, graduating to love, shedding her fears with each tear that flooded her eyes and pooled down her pallid cheeks. I saw her lips tremble, saw her mouth move in words she dare not speak, and yet as she let out a breath she had held for far too long I could tell those words meant everything._

'_A baby… another baby…'_

_They meant everything, laced with acceptance and lined with a simple understanding that would take time to fill out, expanding until understanding moved to knowing, and eventually expecting and wanting. But in that night, in that moment of blissful comfort, with her head pressed against my chest I knew we would be okay, i knew because I believed. That night, we fell asleep in each other's arms, exhausted and completely cried out but in a place where we could both be happy about the situation we found ourselves in._ _Her head nestled against my chest, palms resting over my heart and the soothing sounds of her snoozing confirming the peace I knew she had found. Awaking the next morning I thought it a dream until her ocean eyes penetrated my groggy half gaze and her hands gripped mine, bringing them between us, her fingertips grazing my skin, her eyes and encouraging me with a simple look to comply and echo her motions. It's the simple things, that make life worthwhile, simple things like being in love, and love… even though it's the hardest thing in the world to find, and perfect, and keep, love is simple when its real, when its right. I knew the moment I looked at her it was right, and the moment I touched her I knew it was real. We made plans over the next few weeks, spoke of birthing plans, names, of how to break the news to not only friends and family, but to the small face we had the pleasure of waking up to for the past four years._

_We talked about it until we had cleared a path wide enough to steer past any of the, who, what, where, when, why and how's that would undoubtedly find their way towards us, the youngest of minds are the most inquisitive. Details had been overlooked, details like simplicity and the fact that the beautifully stunning cherub that waltzed in from preschool clutching a handful of dreams and a pocket full of pixies was the epitome of innocence. Yet still we began, and with a nod of her head, her blonde curls falling around her caramel shoulders as she blinked back approvingly the subject matter had passed. Crisis Averted._

**END OF FLASHBACK**

And now here we are, in that self- same embrace, watching as outside the snow dances in the sky, spiralling though the wind on a melody of jingle bells and the feint smell of gingerbread cookies. Her back close to my chest, or at least as close as she can get considering the size of my stomach, one hand slung back resting on the bare flesh from where my shirt has travelled up my bumpy expanse. She's smiling, and although I can't see it, I know because it's the only expression that graces her face in these moments. I move my hand upwards from her hip, fingers trailing over her bump which granted aren't as pronounced as mine but I've heard boys always carry bigger than girls. I stroke my fingers up every indentation, every dark red mark that declared a war on her perfection and I feel her shift beneath my touch, her back curling into me and her breath hitching as movement urges me to continue. I flatten my palm against her roundness, feeling the waves, the rocking, and as a limb shoots out and connects with my palm and I freeze. These are the moments no one else can say they've felt, these are the moments that have helped her come to terms with this, with life. Mornings spent sitting together on the park bench sharing a pack of ginger cookies and sighing simultaneously as the shared nausea passes. Afternoons spent in the on call room crying into each other's arms because of loos, and love, and how alive we felt and nights, well, nights like tonight where we can lie here in perfect silence and just feel our children moving to the shared rhythm of our heartbeats. This is what makes this time different, not anymore or any less special, just different and sometimes different is good.

Hearing a noise, I move to sit up, but her soothing tones inform me that it is simply the aging creaks of the old house, falling back to her side my thoughts dwelling on the occupant, across the hall. The room filled with the soft snoozing of a small blonde cherub, blissfully aware of the impending arrivals of something other than what she had asked for in her illegible pink scrawls we posted a week ago, addressed to a land of magic and belief She is the reason we're going through this again, the joys she has brought to us with every passing day was incentive enough for us to try again. The soft giggles she emanates under the lightest of touches, the sweet voice in which she sings along with Arizona as they cuddle on the sofa, slaves to the idiot box and all things Disney. The way she dances around the room in gentle pirouettes, as gentle as they can be while wearing green wellies that resemble cartoon frogs, her balance nearly surrendering under the weight of the oversized sweatshirt she had stolen from Calliopes wardrobe and paired with a butterfly adorned scrub cap. In all her gap-toothed glory, Savannah Robbins-Torres was the reason we had, after many late night talks decided to fill the spare bedrooms in our home. To have the possibility of increasing the amount of laughter that reverberates off the walls, to fill our table with more gappy smiles, to have another near replica of the woman of my dreams within touching distance, was without a doubt an option I'd agree to instantly.

And so on the tables to the side of our bed sit two books… rose tinted, and sky, in eager anticipation of their owners' arrivals, their names scrawled on the heavy covers in lettering that fell from my own hand. My eyes scan the open pages of the rose tinted sheets, squinting as I try to make out the words that have fallen from her heart onto the pages, words I've been forbidden to see, until tomorrow. They remain unwrapped only due to my insistence upon writing them until the last moment before we are graced with the amazing presence of the people they're intended for. Christmas presents for our late coming Christmas presents, when she first whispered this in my ear the night we first cracked the spines, I smiled thinking about how full our lives would be, how blessed we would be to have them with us at such a special time of the year. We're late now, slightly overdue and both ready to meet the amazing people we know we will raise our children to be, both ready to hold in our arms the results of late nights and morning sickness, the products of unconditional love… our son and daughter, Alexi and Amelia.

I've thought about them, more often than not, how they would look, who they will be, if they will resemble the amazing beauty I find in Savannah each and every day. I don't know if it's the time of year to blame or the fact that my hormones are running riot but I picture this time next year, I picture our first big family Christmas, Savannah smiling and giggling as she hovers slightly behind two toddlers watching over them in the model way she would, their protector, their idol and their big sister. I imagine the laughter filling the house threefold, as they open their presents underneath a tree so big they could easily get lost in the foliage. I can hear the rustling of paper as clear as if it were next to my ear, see the vivid blocks of coloured paper link chains we spent hours making and the occasional broken lyric in the carols we'd sing absentmindedly around the house. The smell of a turkey dinner filling the air and the nostrils of three hungry children who will gravitate towards the kitchen like chocolate covered hands to white t-shirt, Savannahs pigtailed form clinging to my leg as she swings around me, one arm stretched outwards as she declares her hungry state in a whine I know is inevitable when paired with the impatience that comes with aging. Across the room I can see two completely different faces, dark contrast with light, long shoulder length fair hair and jet black curls, ocean eyes you could easily drown in and muddy orbs you'd never want to wash away, and as different as they are, they're alike, same chubby cheeks, same button nose and the same lightly freckled face of an angel, and I'm proud. I'm proud of them, that I get to call them my own, I'm proud of my eldest daughter and how with each passing day she's becoming 'a great man in a storm' and I'm proud of my wife, for overcoming a fear, and for changing for me regardless of the fact that she was perfect just the way she was.

Our family is perfect and it's different…. But yeah …sometimes different is good, sometimes different is well just that… but in our home, different is the norm, different, is perfect!

**Thanks!**


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